You're Free to go to the Respawn?
by Aingirl
Summary: The job of the Grim Reaper can get more than a little boring. Luckily for him, a certain group of mercenaries can offer a good laugh. One shot.


**Hello, hello! Welcome to the first ever _Horrible Histories_ and _Team Fortress 2 _crossover (to my knowledge)! This silly little thing popped into my head one day, and the characters just sort of instructed me to put the words to paper (or keyboard). I basically just wrote this as I went, though I had a _very _loose idea of where it would be going. I simply wrote what I thought the characters would say and do in the situation. :)**

**I tried to keep this generally humour-oriented, but I think sometimes I made the Grim seem a little bit too _jaded_ than he seems in the show. But, seeming as we don't get very much insight to his character anyway, I can probably pass it off as creative licence. I still tried to keep him relatively close to how he seems in the show, though, which is sort of like this show-host character who thinks everything he says is hilarious. :P**

**Oh, almost forgot; DISCLAIMER.  
>I do not own <em>Team Fortress 2<em>, or _Horrible Histories_, or anything else that may be hinted at. Everything in here belongs to their respective owners, which is not me. :P**

**Enough of the lengthy Author's Note, on with the story!**

**Enjoy. :)**

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><p><em>"Stupid deaths, stupid deaths: they're funny, 'cause they're true<br>Stupid deaths, stupid deaths: hope next time, it's not you!"_

He had been chanting that same mantra over and over again for as long as he could remember. He had also sat there in that booth surrounded by his skeletal judges for as long as he could remember, reviewing the deaths of all of those who crossed the veil (Which was, unavoidably, everyone who came to walk the earth in the first place). At first it was somewhat interesting, in a morbid way, listening to whatever story each and every person had to tell of their demise. It was a little strange, he thought, how calm they could be about it. He'd never forget how surprised he was when he first heard someone describe their horrible death in excruciating detail as casually as they might discuss the weather. He supposed once you realised you no longer had to worry about the overhanging threat of death, it seemed a little unnecessary to be insecure about it. He couldn't remember himself how he died, or if he was ever alive in the first place, but he didn't know if _he_ would have thought so little of his transition from being alive to not. There were of course the few souls that didn't even _know_ they had died yet, and pretty soon he became very rehearsed in the 'Terribly sorry, but you're dead' speech. Oddly, the biggest reaction that he ever got was a surprised "Oh".

But after a while it just became so _boring._ Plague, burning, drowning, falling, murder... It was all so _bleak_ and _depressing_ and even _repetitive_. He didn't even bother listening to the ones that died 'peacefully in their sleep' (They were always the ones who said something along the lines of "Well, I went to sleep, and the next thing I know is I've woken up here"). It was probably why he laughed like a hyena whenever he heard a story that was mildly different or humorous; he jumped at even the slightest chance to laugh, or be entertained.

So when he heard a somewhat skinny boy in a red shirt wearing a baseball cap say that he was literally stabbed in the back by what he thought was _his_ spy, but turned out to be the enemy's spy, during his work as a mercenary, he hollered like no normal human being should at the situation. The boy just stood there with the usual slightly uncomfortable and unsure look that they always had when he laughed at them. However, when he managed to calm himself down and told him he was free to go to the afterlife, something happened that never had before.

The boy vanished.

Just like that: no poof, no sparkle, no smoke, just one moment he was there and the next he wasn't. He hadn't even turned around to walk through the portal.

He had just sat there, dumbly, staring at the void of space the baseball mercenary had taken up mere seconds ago. He didn't actually manage to process the situation until the next person in line said, "Er, is it my turn, now?"

He had told her to hold her horses while he checked the name list and checked again. He had said his name was Grover Colin Boon, but he had also said it was fine to call him 'Scout'. Yep, there it was, right on the paper. It even had the name Scout in parenthesis right after it; there was no way there could have been a mix up. Then again, there was that one time where the fellow with the beard had walked in and right back out before he even had his name checked (Later he had found out that he'd died by crucifixion, and wasn't particularly disappointed that he never met him). And _then_ there was that other time a bunch of demons intercepted a murderer who burned to death in a factory before he lended up in the lobby, turning him into some dream-haunter-thing, so he supposed that avoiding his particular afterlife transition wasn't _that_ unusual. Perhaps this 'Scout' person was the same as the crucifixion guy but no one ever told him? He decided to try and forget it ever happened.

However, it wasn't long before it _did_ happen again. This time, it was with a different mercenary, this one dressed in blue and wearing a slanted hat and sunglasses. He said he'd been unlucky enough to be set on fire by a pyromaniac (Unlucky, because in his line of work he was a sniper, and they didn't usually get caught up in the action). Yet again, right before he was going to say they could pass on to the afterlife, the mercenary vanished. He had stood up in his seat, and shouted "Not again!" so loudly that about fifty people in the waiting line shifted uncomfortably. He checked the list, looking for the name, and yes, it was there; Hector Andre Mundy, complete with the word 'Sniper' right next to it.

After that, he found himself watching each mercenary he came across with a steady eye. He saw them quite often, dangerous as that particular job was, and half-expecting them to disappear into thin air whenever he met them was starting to wear on his nerves.

The third time was with a rather loud and burly man, also wearing red, with a helmet that went so far down on his head you couldn't see his eyes. Oddly, he said his name was Jane, though he was only permitted to refer to him as "Soldier, private!"

He managed to work out that the two before who had disappeared also had alternate names that were actually the titles of different classes of mercenaries, but before he could even ask his method of death the Soldier vanished too.

Now, he was certain that the next time he came across a mercenary dressed in red or blue who happened to have a second name, he would demand to know why they were suddenly all disappearing before he was able to do his job.

Incidentally, only two more people passed before he found who he was looking for.

"Ach, I hope that dummkopf's brain is more developed vhen he gets respawned," was the first thing they had said.

"Sorry?" he said blankly.

"He should know by now that if you rocket launch _avay_ from your medic, he is not able to _heal_ you, and therefore you have a much higher chance of being filled with lead or set on fire!" He had clawed his rubber gloved hands through the air in frustration before he realised that the person he was talking to had no idea was he was going on about.

"Ah, I apologise," he said, adjusting his small round glasses.

"No, no," he had replied, leaning forward and intertwining his hands on the desktop, sensing a good joke. "Keep going..."

The man, who was wearing a white lab coat, along with an odd looking device attached to his back by two straps, let out a short groan of irritation before he launched into the full story.

"I vas vorking in my job as a medic with a group of mercenaries, and in the middle of a battle my schweinehund of a team member used that God-for-saken rocket launcher to catapult himself into the enemy base, _forgetting_ I vas meant to stay vith him during the assault! That is my purpose: follow, heal, repeat. Vhen vill these idiots learn?!"

"Yes, yes, get to the point..." he ushered him along.

"Ah, right," said the man. "Vell, now that my partner had launched avay, I decided to find somev'one else who vould be in need of my assistance. However, I only took v'one step before my head vas blown to smithereens by the blue sniper." He made a 'poof' motion with his hands around his head for emphasis. "The end."

"Oh," he said, leaning back in his chair feeling a bit disappointed.

"Anyvay," the medic went on, "my name is-"

Then, suddenly, he realised something.

"Wait, did you say 'blue sniper'?"

The medic looked irritated at being interrupted, but upon hearing the question seemed to adopt an air of slight confusion. "Yes..."

He slammed his hands on the table and leaned forward so far the medic took a step backwards. "_Who are you people and why do you keep disappearing_?!"

The medic just looked startled, and still a little confused. Then he looked annoyed. "I tried to _tell_ you who I vas, but then you interrupted me!"

"Well, get on with it, then!" he snapped. "I don't have all day!"

The medic was beginning to shift his overall composure from annoyance to exasperation. "I assume you vant to know about the effects of the respawn, yes?"

"The what?"

Respawn? What in all the hells was _that_?

"The respawn is an extremely advanced piece of technology that is powered by Australium," the medic explained. "Vhenever any of us is killed on the battlefield, our molecular signature is identified and-"

He made a loud and exaggerated snoring sound, and then pretended to wake up from a nap.

"What? Oh, sorry, dozed off. _Get on with it_!"

"I vas _just_- Oh, fine. Basically, vhen ve die on the field the respawn brings us back to life. That is most likely vhat you are asking about."

...

Brought back to _life_?

That was insane! Preposterous! The very idea was ludicrous! You couldn't- It wasn't- You just-

He forced himself out of his stupor before the medic (Or just Medic, he supposed, if he was right in guessing that was his class title) might think he was having a stroke.

"So..." he said, his tone slow and cautious, "what you're telling me is, you lot can die over and over again, each time having a new method of death?"

"Vell, I vouldn't say a new method _each time_, but..." the Medic shrugged briefly, "I suppose so."

"These deaths," he continued, "do they ever tend to be... stupid?"

The Medic barked a short, harsh laugh.

"You have no idea, kamerad."

Suddenly, he wasn't so angry at these mercenaries.

After a while, he got to know them all. There were eighteen in total, nine in red and nine in blue; the Sniper, the Engineer, the Scout, the Demo Man, the Soldier, the Spy, the Medic, the Pyro, and the Heavy Weapons Guy (Heavy for short). Each of them had a proper name, but they all seemed to prefer to be addressed as their titles. He was fine with that, honestly; they were easy enough to remember. He noticed that each pair of red and blue classes were extremely similar in appearance, but the fact that they were in possession of a machine that could _bring people back to life_ didn't make him doubt the possibilities of cloning. Not that he particularly cared. As long as they had a funny story, he was all ears no matter who they were.

Of course, they didn't always end up in his lobby whenever they died. It just seemed to be a random detour their life energy took within the time their bodies were repaired in the respawn. It was just as well; he didn't want to get sick of seeing their faces over and over again.

On the whole, it was thanks to whoever created the insane machine in the first place that his job was made a little less boring. After all, hearing stories about getting trapped in a room full of sentry-bots (Machines designed to shoot people full of bullets), having rockets backfired onto you courtesy of a heat blast of the Pyro's flamethrower, getting shot by your _own _sentry, courtesy of an enemy Scout ("I was runnin' _circles_ around 'em!"), healing a Spy only to find out he wasn't on your team, and simply offending the Heavy Weapons Guy while in possesion of his favourite gun, Sasha (Which was so big only the burly Russian was capable of lifting it), he often found himself incapable of speaking due to a laugh-induced hoarse voice.

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><p><strong>Okay, okay, I admit I cheated a little bit with that last paragraph and watched the Machinima video '25 Ways to die in Team Fortress 2' to get ideas. So, technically they own that too.<strong>

**I hope you enjoyed this silly little thing~**


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